


I'll Change The World For You

by GillianInOz



Series: Endeavour Thursday [3]
Category: Endeavour
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Thursday is Morse's Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 04:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12357684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillianInOz/pseuds/GillianInOz
Summary: It's true what they say, eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves.





	I'll Change The World For You

“The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.”  
‘Who are you?’ said the Caterpillar.  
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, ‘I – I hardly know, sir, just at present – at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”

“What’s a hookah?” Joan asked, glancing up at Morse from her place against his side.

“That is,” Morse said, pointing to the picture. “It’s like Dad’s pipe, only bigger.”

“Oh,” Joan said, her eyes round.

“Caterpillar,” Sam said, pointing at the brilliant illustration on the page. He grabbed Morse’s chin in his hand and tilted his head back towards the page. “See, Morse? It’s a caterpillar.” 

“That’s right, Sam,” Morse said, smiling down at the glossy black head on his shoulder. “Very good.”

“How’s the book?” Dad said from the doorway, and Joan jumped off the bed and hugged him. 

“Dad’s home!” she said. “You missed dinner, dad.”

Dad sat on the side of the bed and lifted a sleepy Sam on his lap before he could jump down. “What’s Morse reading you?” Morse could smell the pipe tobacco on his jacket, and although Dad sounded his usual cheerful self, Morse thought he looked tired, like the lines around his eyes were dimming his smile a bit. 

“Alice in Wonderland,” said Joan. “And she turned into a giant and she met a rabbit and now, look, daddy, there’s a caterpillar who talks.”

“Caterpillar,” Sam said helpfully around a yawn.

“Amazing,” Dad said in admiring tones. “But Mum says it’s bedtime, Morse has school tomorrow.”

“I’ll read you some more tomorrow night,” Morse said when Joan opened her mouth to argue. “It’s getting to a very good bit soon, with a very Mad Tea Party.”

“Okay,” Joan said in her amiable way, climbing onto her bed, while Dad tucked a now dozing Sam into his. 

Dad ruffled Morse’s hair as he stood. “Done all your homework?”

“Yes,” Morse said, resisting the urge to say of course he had, ages ago. 

“Then you can read for a while before bed, but not too late, all right?”

888

Morse realised he’d left his new fountain pen on the bureau in the dining room as he was packing his satchel for school just before bed. He was in the habit of putting everything far enough away from Sam’s sticky hands that his little brother couldn’t reach them, and he’d placed his wonderful new pen at the back of the bureau just as they were sitting down to dinner.

The house was quiet as he walked down the stairs, deliberately keeping his footsteps on the wooden risers silent. If Mrs Thursday and his dad were watching television he’d rather they not know he’d been careless with their precious gift.

He crept into the dining room and grabbed his pen, and then paused in the hall when he realised his dad was washing dishes while Mrs Thursday dried. Morse smiled at the scene, not sure why it made him happy to see his dad with a tea towel tucked into his trousers. 

“I just don’t understand him,” Dad was saying. “When I was his age I was out and about with my mates every day, couldn’t wait to run and play and kick a football. All Morse wants is to sit with his books, or listen to those highbrow radio stations.”

Morse froze at the sound of his name.

“He’s still settling in. Give him time.” Mrs Thursday said.

“Shouldn’t he have a few friends by now at least? I’m telling you, it’s not normal.”

Morse rubbed at his chest, dimly registering the dull pain that reminded him of when he used to sit by his mother’s bedside just before she died. Of grief, of aching sorrow.

Silently he turned and walked back up the stairs, wishing he had never come down. He’d so wanted his new dad to like him, but he wasn’t any different from the old dad really. He might smile more, and wink, but it was all just pretend. He thought Morse wasn’t normal either.

Morse sat on the side of his bed and looked down at his homework. He’d finished ages ago but he liked to check it over before bed, in case he got any new ideas when he was sleeping. That hadn’t happened yet, but he’d often considered that with enough practise he could train his brain to learn things while he was asleep.

Now he just stared down at the page, covered in his scrawled writing. The truth was that it all bored him. The classes, the teachers, even most of the books in the library. It was all so simple, so easy. He did his best because that’s what his mother had always told him to do, and he thought it might make his new dad proud.

But the new dad was just like the old dad in that as well. He didn’t like books, or music, or Morse.

Carefully he put his pen in the drawer and his homework in his satchel and got into his pyjamas. Then he curled up in a ball and wished he was back in Lincolnshire. At least he’d known the truth there, and no one tried to even pretend they liked him.

888

“Cheer up, Morse, it might never happen,” Fred said, sweeping into the dining room.

“Morning, daddy!” Joan said, lifting her face for a kiss. 

“Morning, my loves,” Fred said, kissing Joan and ruffling Sam’s hair. He patted Morse’s shoulder before sitting down at the head of the table. Morse was bending over his plate, fiddling with his toast. “You sickening for something?” Fred said. “Not like you to play with your food.”

Morse just lifted one shoulder.

Fred frowned. “Morse?”

Morse stood up and picked up his plate and full glass of milk. “I’m going to leave early today,” he said tonelessly, walking past Win at the door.

“Don’t you want us to walk with you?” Win said as he disappeared into the kitchen. 

“No, thank you,” Morse said politely. “Sorry about the dishes.” He took his school uniform jacket from a lower peg on the mirrored stand and shrugged into it before looping his leather satchel over his shoulder. 

And then he was gone.

Fred leaned around the doorway as the front door closed quietly behind him. “Is he all right?” he said.

Win stood, still holding the teapot. “Maybe he’s sickening for something,” she said worriedly. “That’s all we need, a bug going through the whole household.”

She carried the teapot into the dining room, but Fred stood in the doorway another minute, feeling a curious kind of worry. Morse just picking up and leaving like that reminded him painfully of the first day he’d seen him, at his stepmother’s kitchen table. Stiff and silent, a shadow in what should have been his own home.

He shook off the thought. Win was probably right, Morse was just coming down with something.

888

At half past four Fred was settling back in at his desk after a meeting when he got a phone call. 

“Thursday,” he said absently into the receiver.

“Oh, Fred,” Win said, sounding frantic.

Fred’s attention sharpened instantly. “What? What is it?”

“Morse didn’t come home, I don’t know where he is.”

“Calm down,” Fred said, standing up. “Maybe he’s just running late.” 

“He’s never late,” Win said worriedly. “He’s always home by twenty past three at the latest.”

“He might have met some mates and decided to play in the park. Just forgot the time,” Fred said, trying to convince himself this was a possibility.

“I called the school, they said he left on time as usual. Oh, Fred. You hear such terrible stories. What if something’s happened to him?”

“Nothing’s happened to him,” Fred said firmly. “Look, I’ll leave early and bring the car. You wait at home in case he shows up, if he does call the station and get them to relay a message to me, all right?”

“All right,” Win said shakily. 

“Sir?” Sergeant Miles stood in the door, looking concerned. “Everything okay?”

Fred grabbed his hat and coat. “Morse is late home from school, that’s all. Win’s worried sick about him.”

“Can I do anything?” Miles said, following him down the hall. “Maybe ring around the hospitals, in case there was an accident?”

“Good idea,” Fred said. “Radio me if you hear anything at all.”

888

The park was emptying fast on this blustery October evening, a man with two children and a kite, and a woman pushing a pram were strolling towards the entrance. Fred pulled the car up at the kerb and got out, eyes anxiously scanning the area, mind already racing ahead to his next move if Morse wasn’t here.

“Excuse me,” he asked the man who was shepherding the little boy and girl out through the gates. “I’m looking for my son. He’s eleven, wearing his school blazer, probably alone. Have you seen him?’

The man frowned, passing the kite to the small boy. “I did see a lad when we arrived,” he said. “A good hour ago now. He was getting into a big black car.”

Fred’s blood ran cold.

“Make? Model?” he barked.

The man shrugged. “Sorry, I was too busy herding these two.” He looked a little anxious. “Might have been someone else.”

“Thank you,” Fred said numbly. What if it had been Morse? What if he’d climbed into some stranger’s car the way he’d so casually climbed into Fred’s car that day? Did he even know not to do that?

“I saw a boy in a blazer,” the lady pushing the pram said. “Sitting down by the little lake. I wondered if he was waiting for someone, he was all alone.”

Hope lit in Fred’s heart. “Thank you,” he said. 

“That way,” she pointed, but Fred knew the way. Last summer he and Win had bought the two kids down and they’d sailed Sam’s boat on the little lake. 

Fred ran, hope in his heart. He didn’t even realise he was chanting to himself ‘please please please’ until his breath caught in his throat at the sight of a small figure slumped on the bench.

“Morse?” He called, and the boy lifted his head and looked at him. 

Thursday raced over, taking in everything as he dropped to his knees. Morse’s face scraped and bloody, his blazer dirty and torn. But Morse was here and alive under his hands and he ran them over his dusty head, down his thin shoulders, grabbing his forearms and pulling him into his embrace.

“Christ,” he said. “Thank Christ.” He hugged the boy tight and then caught him by the shoulders and jerked him away. “What the hell happened?” he said fiercely. “Who did this to you?”

Morse was staring at him, his eyes wide and wet. “Boys,” he said weakly. “Big boys.”

“Boys?” Fred looked around at the quiet park, distant figures blurred against the trees. “What boys? Why?”

Morse held out his hands and Fred frowned down at the book Morse had been clutching to his chest. “They tore the library book,” he said and then he burst into tears. 

“Oh, Morse,” Fred said, swinging him up in his arms as if he were no bigger than Joan. In truth he wasn’t much heavier, all bones and angles. He was still crying, burying his head in Fred’s shoulder, his torn book clutched to his chest.

He sat down on the bench holding Morse on his lap while he wept. “What’s all this then?” he said gently. “It’s just a book, we can explain to the school, they’ll understand.”

“I just wanted to play with them,” Morse sobbed. “They had a football, and I looked up the rules in the school library and everything.”

Fred frowned, trying to follow the hiccoughing story. 

“But they laughed at me and threw my bag in the water,” Morse said, pointing at the lake. “And they tore my book and pushed me.”

“Mean little buggers,” Fred said. 

“I just wanted to play football,” Morse said thickly. “So that you’d like me and not hate me like the other dad.” 

Fred stiffened as Morse rubbed his wet face on his shoulder. “I just wanted to be normal,” he finished miserably.

“Oh, Morse,” Fred said, shame overwhelming him. He remembered the night before, saying something to Win about Morse’s behaviour not being normal. Little pitchers have big ears, he thought guiltily. 

“Will Mrs Thursday be mad?” Morse said worriedly. “I know everything was so dear, and now my bag is gone and my new blazer is torn.”

“She’ll just be glad you’re okay,” Fred assured him, wondering how on earth to make this right. “Look, let’s get you home, hmm? We’ll get everything sorted out at home. Can you stand up?”

Morse nodded and climbed off his lap, looking down at the torn and muddy book in his arms. “Miss Allenby will be angry,” he said. “All my homework is gone.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Fred said. “Come on, let’s get back. The car’s over here.”

Morse walked along next to him, and now Fred could see his knees were scraped too, and his shoes and socks muddy. “We’ll get you in a warm bath and you’ll be right as rain, ey? Maybe some nice warm soup?” Morse just nodded, his head down. 

Fred turned it all over in his mind as he put Morse in the car and drove them the short distance home. What the hell was he supposed to say? He couldn’t even remember exactly what he’d said to Win the night before, just something about wishing Morse would get out more.

And play football, he thought. He slanted a glance at the boy slumped next to him. That explained this morning as well. Not sickening for something, just feeling awful because he’d heard his father say he wasn’t normal.

Fred pulled up in front of the house and the front door opened, Win rushing down the path.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, pulling open the door and tugging Morse out and up into her arms.

“I’m muddy,” Morse protested.

“I don’t care,” Win said, hugging him fiercely. She pulled back and looked at him. “Oh, your poor face, you’re all scraped up! What happened?”

“I’ll explain inside,” Fred said, locking the car. “Come on, Morse, let’s run you that bath, ey?”

888

Fred knocked on the door and pushed it open. Morse was sitting on the bed in his pyjamas, his dressing gown loose around his shoulders. He had his head down and a closed book on his lap.

“Feeling better?” Fred said gently. 

Morse nodded.

“Well, make the most of it. Mrs Thursday will be up with the mercurochrome in a minute, and that stuffs stings like, er, heck.”

He sat down on the bed next to Morse, taking the book from his lax hands. “A Shropshire Lad,” he said. “This is one of yours, isn’t it?” He opened the book to the flyleaf, reading the lovely little plate picked out with heavy gold. 

Presented to Endeavour Morse, 08 December 1949  
For Good Conduct, Diligence and Regular Attendance

“Morse,” Fred said, carefully stroking one finger over the fine copperplate writing on the bookplate. “I’m sorry for what I said in the kitchen last night. I didn’t mean that you’re not normal, I didn’t mean that at all.”

Morse looked down at his hands. “That’s what you said.”

“Well, I shouldn’t have,” Fred said. “All I meant was that you’re not the way I was when I was a lad, that’s all.”

“The other dad said that too,” Morse said stiffly. “Proverbs 17:25.”

Fred frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”

“A foolish son is a grief to his father, and bitterness to her who bore him,” Morse said woodenly.

“He said that to you?” Fred said, appalled.

Morse shrugged again. “At least he didn’t pretend to like me,” he said bitterly. “My mother said that I was to be a good boy so I could get on with him, but it didn’t matter what I did. He said I was too clever by half.” Morse clenched his fists. “I tried not to be clever, so Gwen would stop saying I was showing off, but no matter how I tried I couldn’t stop saying things that made them mad. So I stopped saying much at all.”

Fred swallowed hard, feeling completely out of his depth. This wasn’t just about what Morse had overheard, the accidental eavesdropping had opened up another door, triggered a whole bunch of other bad memories. 

“And then she said she was going to send me away, and I was almost glad, because I hated that house and that school. But I was scared too, because I didn’t want to go to the home for bad boys.”

“Morse, Morse,” Fred said, putting his hands over his son’s where they were clenched on his knees. “Hush now, all right? Just forget about those people and everything they said. They weren’t your family, they weren’t even decent folk, as far as I’m concerned.”

“I don’t care about them,” Morse said miserably. “I just wanted you to like me. I don’t want to leave again, I want to stay here.”

Fred just picked him up then and pulled him onto his lap, rocking him like he did Sam when he had one of his nightmares and was crying in his sleep. “Hush,” he said again. “You’re not going anywhere, do you hear me? This is your home, and I’m your dad, and Mrs Thursday will be your mum, just as soon as you want her to be.”

Morse pressed his forehead to his father’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m not like the other boys,” he said tearfully.

Fred felt his eyes prickle with tears. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said fiercely. “I wouldn’t have you any other way, and I never should have said otherwise. I was just worried about you, worried you wouldn’t fit in, worried that you didn’t have any friends.”

He leaned back and looked into Morse’s damp eyes. “But I was just being silly,” he said. “You don’t have to change to suit the world. You are fine just the way you are, and if we have to, we’ll change the world to suit you.”

Morse blinked at him. “We will?”

“Yes,” Fred said firmly. “If you want to learn to play football, I’ll teach you. But if you don’t, that’s fine too. You love books, and that’s a great thing. I daresay books will take you further in the world than football will, and that’s all I want for you, Morse. To be happy, and to have everything in the world you want.”

“I just want to stay here,” Morse said. “I just want to read story books to the littlies, and dry the dishes, and have a library card.”

“You can do all that,” Fred said, pulling out his hanky and handing it to him. Morse rubbed at his cheeks. “Okay?”

Morse nodded and sniffed.

“Blow,” Fred ordered, and Morse blew his nose. 

“Tomorrow I’ll go to your school and talk to the headmaster,” Fred said. “So the teachers understand about your homework and the library book.” 

Morse crumpled the hanky in his hand. “Can you…” he broke off, looking uncertain.

“Can I what?” Fred said, letting him climb off his lap and stand next to the bed.

“Can you tell him that all the work is too easy?” Morse said in a rush. “It’s all so easy it’s boring. All the others are reading out loud, and I’ve read the book twice before they finish a page. And they don’t have Latin or Greek at all, not even any books in the library.”

Fred felt it again, that feeling of being overwhelmed, as if he’d thought he was adopting a kitten and it turned out he had a tiger by the tail. He had no idea what he was doing, no idea how to deal with a child of eleven who wanted to learn Latin and Greek. 

But he’d already let Morse down once, he wasn’t going to do it again. “I’ll talk to him,” he said, and Morse breathed out, looking relieved.

“I don’t want him to think I’m ungrateful or anything,” he said anxiously. “He’s very nice and he’s been really decent to me about my name.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” Fred assured him. “Maybe they have some advanced classes they can put you in. I’ll talk to him, I promise.” 

He looked Morse over carefully. His scrapes were livid, and his eyes still a bit tear swollen. But he didn’t look so miserable any more.

“We’ll be all right, Morse,” Fred said reassuringly.

Morse nodded.

888

Win was downstairs waiting for him with a cup of tea. “I heard most of that from the landing,” she said. “Poor mite.”

“I’ve got to watch what I say,” Fred said ruefully. He glanced in to the living room, where Joan and Sam were laying stretched out on the floor, industriously colouring in. Fred smiled at their relaxed sprawl. Sam was already nodding off over his crayon.

“What a thing for a lad to hear from his father,” Fred said, his smile fading as guilt assailed him again. “No wonder he looked sick as a dog this morning.”

“Not helped by that pair he was living with when you fetched him away,” Win said with a sniff. “I’d like to meet that stepfather of his and give him a piece of my mind.”She picked up her first aid tin and checked the contents. “Oh, Sergeant Miles called, I told him all was well.”

“Thanks, love,” Fred said. “I better phone and tell them I’m keeping the car overnight.”

“Dinner will be on the table as soon as I’ve finished upstairs,” Win called back down. 

888

“Mr Thursday.” The headmaster met him at his office door with a handshake, and indicated that he should take a seat. “I was sorry to hear about Morse’s troubles in the park yesterday. I assure you, his attackers were not pupils of this school.”

Fred sat, his hat on his lap. “Morse said they were older boys,” he said. “I’ve got a few of the local bobbies keeping an eye out for them, to give them a warning about roughing up younger kids.”

“Good, good,” Mr Jones nodded. “Can’t have that kind of thing going on. How is Morse?” 

“A bit scraped up,” Fred said. “As I told you on the telephone, I thought it best that he stay home today, let Mrs Thursday coddle him a bit. To tell you the truth, Mr Jones, he was more worried about the library book the little thugs ruined, than his own scrapes and bumps.”

Mr Jones smiled. “He would be. Such a conscientious child, and so careful with all his things. It’s a pleasure to see a child who values possessions, his and other people’s.”

“Comes from not having too much growing up, I expect,” Fred said. “Our generation lived through the Depression, that teaches a man to squeeze sixpence out of a penny.”

“Tell Morse not to worry about the book, Ill have a word with the librarian about it.”

“Morse asked me to have a word with you about a few other things,” Fred said. “Seems he’s finding the classes a bit… less than challenging,” he continued, striving for diplomacy.

“This isn’t news to me,” Mr Jones said. “Morse is a diligent student, but his teacher informs me that he’s clearly ahead of the rest of the class. I was intending to write to you and invite you and Mrs Thursday to a meeting with myself and Miss Allenby on the subject.”

“Do you have any advanced classes he could take?” Fred asked. “Maybe tutoring?” Inwardly he winced, wondering how much that would cost.

“Actually.” Mr Jones pulled open a desk drawer and removed a buff folder. He pulled out a booklet. “Have you heard of St Edward’s School? In North Oxford?”

“Woodstock Road, isn’t it?” Fred took the thick, glossy prospectus, his heart sinking even further. Just the gleaming card stock of the handout looked expensive, let alone the school’s emblem picked out in gold on the top corner of the cover.

“Yes, it’s an exceptional facility, about 85% boarders, but they accept day pupils as well.”

“It looks…” Expensive, Fred thought. It was a safe bet the yearly fees were as much as he earned. 

“For those pupils who demonstrate exceptional academic ability, St Edward’s offers Academic Scholarships, Mr Thursday.”

Fred looked up hopefully. “Really?”

“The scholarship includes free tuition, and an allowance for school requisites. I would have mentioned it sooner but strictly speaking the youngest pupils they take are thirteen. Morse turns twelve soon, I understand?”

Fred nodded, looking more closely now at the prospectus.

“I’ve had a word with Warden Kendall, and he’s prepared to meet Morse and look over some of his work, with a view to perhaps making an exception on the age requirement in his case. If all goes as well as I expect, Morse would be allowed to sit the examination for the scholarship at the end of the current term.”

“It sounds ideal,” Fred said, amazed and proud. He could scarcely believe it, his boy, at St Edward’s School. 

“Of course Morse would need to see the year out here, but we’d make sure he has all the coaching required to help him pass the test. Frankly, I don’t think he’ll have any trouble at all.”

“I appreciate this, Mr Jones,” Fred said sincerely. “More than I can say.”

“Morse has an exceptional mind, Mr Thursday. He could do great things in the world. I feel honoured to have had any part in nurturing that god given talent, even for such a short time.”

888

“They call the students Teddies,” Morse said, flipping for the dozenth time through the prospectus his father had dropped in at home on his way to work. 

“Is that right?” Mrs Thursday said, folding another towel. 

“Previous students are called Old St Edward’s,” Morse read out. “And previous alumni include Wing Commander Guy Gibson, 617 Squadron, who led the Dambusters.”

“You’ll have to tell your dad that,” Mrs Thursday said. “He loved that film. Took me to it twice.”

Morse added another note on his yellow pad. He already had a list of St Edward’s related history to research. “I’ll look out a book on it,” he murmured. “Dad might like to look at it too.”

Mrs Thursday smiled. “I’m sure he would.”

Morse stopped writing and toyed with his fountain pen, glad all over again that he never took it to school with him. He hated the thought it might have been lost in the little lake at the park, along with his satchel. 

“Dad said…” he began. “Dad said that I could call you mum, if I wanted.”

Mrs Thursday stopped folding and studied his doubtful face with a smile. “He means well,” she said. “But you had a mum, didn’t you, Morse? And you still love her very much, I’m sure.”

Morse looked down at his pad, and nodded.

“Of course, if you ever wanted to call me mum, I wouldn’t mind,” she said thoughtfully. “But how about you call me Aunt Win, for now. What do you think?”

“Aunt Win,” Morse said, trying it out. “Do you think Dad will mind?” 

“I’ll explain it to him.” She picked up a pair of Sam’s shorts and started folding. “Now, tell me more about this wonderful school,” she said.

So Morse did.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I really want to hug poor Morse. A lot.


End file.
